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Nov. 5th, 2016

  • 4:03 PM
pridefall: (the saddest icon I have | art)
4:03 AM:
i wonder sometimes, quiet,
if i'll be the one you apologize for.
like, if they ask what's wrong--
when trying to hold you, love you,
try to give you everything in the world,
everything i tried to and failed;
and instead, you flinch--my memory
like a ghost walking over your grave;
i wonder if, when they try to kiss you,
claim your neck; your wrist; your thigh
the scars you told me were tiger stripes;
your lips--will you already have a mouthful
of i'm sorry and i can't right now in your throat,
each syllable waiting to explain in detail how
your coat of thorns, your reflexive twitch, this:
your new litany of: "Please, could you not?"
your: "Please, stop. Just stop," your every:
"I'm sorry, I just need a bit more time."
were all things not borrowed from,
nor inherited;
but given.

- scar tissue does not preclude the wound